Rom-com Cringe
by FireIceAir
Summary: She's still getting used to waking up beside him; but it's key to gathering information for the 'Morning Jake' binder she's considering starting, so she thinks she'd like to keep doing it for a while longer. Everything's chill until Amy remembers their work commitments. Also posted on Ao3.


Amy emerges from sleep with little awareness of anything else other than the pillow that's smushed up against the side of her face and the fact that there is a mattress spring uncomfortably digging into her left hip bone.

The covers have migrated from their usual spot around her neck to just below her shoulder blades, and she can feel the cool air as it gently caresses her bare skin. It's chilling but not too inconvenient, so she's content to stay where she is and snuggle into the pillow, trying to remember her dream that might have involved Mario Lopez and a trapeze.

She lasts about five minutes before the spring beats her. It's digging into her bones like she's lying on a bed of wires, not a mattress, and when she rolls onto her back it's not really any better but at least she doesn't feel like she's being impaled.

Then a large hand covers the soft skin of her stomach and that's when Amy _really_ wakes up.

Now she remembers where she is: in Jake's apartment, in Jake's bed, with Jake's fingers tracing shapes into her abs (and his hands are so big they feel like they almost span her abdomen hip to hip, and Amy hears her mother's voice in her head, " _Are you eating, mija? You look so thin!_ "). She knows that if she turns her head to the right like she's doing right now she's going to see Jake right beside her, in the bed. With her.

And he is.

He's still dopey from sleep, lying on his side, eyes half focused as he gazes at her and languidly strokes the paths of her rib bones. When he notices her looking at him, he gives her a relaxed smile and rumbles a sleepy "Mornin', Ames."

When she sighs, his grin gets a little wider and the pads of his index and middle fingers trace the line between her abs down to her bellybutton.

"Good dreams?" she asks, watching him shift in the bed until he's balancing on his elbows on either side of her, hovering over her and army crawling up, planting chaste kisses up her sternum and neck until he reaches her lips. That kiss lasts a little longer than the others, and Amy gets to extricate one of her arms from between them and run her fingers along his jaw.

"The best," he answers when he finally pulls away reluctantly, returning for one quick peck as if he can't get enough. Amy loves it; she gets a warm feeling in her chest every time she sees Jake is just as affected by her as she is him, a little akin to the pride she feels when she's won something deliberately or unexpectedly at the same time – a cross between a _hell yeah_ and _wow, I can't believe this, this is amazing_.

They're just gazing at each other now, and Amy knows that any sane person would probably be gagging from the rom-com cringe of it all – if the rest of the squad could see them now – but she can't bring herself to care, not when her partner seems to be studying every inch of her face as she does the same to him, wanting to remember every detail about this moment, from the crust of sleep at the corner of his eyes down to the pull of his mouth as he adjusts his elbow to avoid a spring. Amy could write a full report on 'Morning Jake' – she could make a whole binder of it.

She could get used to this. Amy almost wishes they didn't work together, so they wouldn't have to hold themselves back in the interests of workplace propriety and she could kiss him whenever she wants to without fear of losing her job. But then again, a universe where she doesn't solve cool murders and B&E's and incidences of public indecency with Jake is a horrible alternate universe she has no interest in. She wants them to be Detectives Santiago and Peralta, NYPD, as much as she wants them to be Jake and Amy.

She wonders if her heart will ever stop announcing his arrival into the bullpen in the mornings with two solid thumps.

The morning light is streaming in through a gap in Jake's curtains and she's considering suggesting he get blinds when she realises that waking up is usually followed by going to work and morning sun usually means _late_.

 _Oh god, what time is it?!_

She jolts upwards in panic, headbutting Jake in the nose as she does. He lets out a strangled yell and falls off to the side, clutching at his face.

"Oh my god, Jake! I'm so sorry!" Now she's the one hovering over him, trying to gauge if he's okay while simultaneously rubbing her forehead because damn, Jake's nose is hard and Amy wouldn't be surprised if she bruises. He's groaning and Amy's boobs are letting her know it's cold and she's thinking that maybe sleeping in just their underwear wasn't the smartest idea considering its October not only for the temperature but because it's not appropriate in situations like these, but she's mostly preoccupied with the fact she just _headbutted her boyfriend in the face and totally ruined a tender moment_.

"Are you okay? Oh my god, I thought we were late for work, let me see, does it hurt? I'm so so sorry, babe!"

"It's _Saturday_!" Jake shrieks shrilly from under his hands.

"I'm _sorry_ ," she returns mournfully, nearly climbing over him in effort to see the damage, but Jake's hands aren't budging and his eyes are screwed shut.

They stay like that for a few more seconds until his eyes open again and he's obviously through the worst of the pain. She's up on her knees, a hand on each of his wrists, biting her lip when she sees his eyes are watery, feeling like the worst person in the world.

Jake moves his hands away from his face and pulls her down to him so they're chest to chest before pulling the covers up around them. "Well, give it to me straight. What's the verdict? Am I still handsome?"

She makes a pained face in lieu of answering and reaches up to tap his nose gingerly. He grimaces. "I'm fine, Amy, it's fine. Just be gentle with me."

"Jake, I–"

"Babe, it's okay." He gives her a quick peck, pulling away when his injured nose bumps hers and giving her a longer kiss on her shoulder. "Don't worry about it – if anything, it's a wake-up call. You can be on top from now on."

"I'll probably end up kneeing you in the dick or something…" She says despondently, and he makes a face.

"Please do not do that." He readjusts his arm around her waist and flares his nostrils in and out a bit. "Maybe we can get adjacent apartments and communicate through the window with whiteboards–"

She knows precisely where he's going with this, and says it at the same time, "Like in the Taylor Swift video."

"… Like in the Taylor Swift video! Exactly! Y'know, for my own safety."

Amy buries her head in the space between his shoulder and neck and wills herself to time travel back to five minutes ago, to no avail. Jake smells warm and somehow like freshly baked pizza dough (which she loves) without any of the sauce or toppings (which she hates – the smell of, not the taste).

"I can't believe you injured me because you thought you were late for work. Will I always come second in this relationship?" Jake jokes, trying to lighten the mood and Amy still feels awful about it, she really does, but maybe it is pretty funny.

She's lucky to have Jake, she knows. He pulls her out of her head when she's spiralling, helps her to lighten up a bit and take a breath every once in a while. He's lucky to have her too, though: thanks to her, his finances are looking up, and the once crushing debt has shrunk to a slightly more manageable constricting debt. He's also eating more vegetables too, but that's not a conscious decision so much as her tricking him into getting some of his five-a-day.

What she likes best is that if she asked him what he liked best about being in a relationship with her, he wouldn't mention either of those things. He's in it for her, just like she is in it for him. He makes her better.

When Monday morning rolls around and they finally do have to get up early, she lets her first alarm snooze for ten minutes and cuddles into him. When the second alarm buzzes she's up, though, because she's still Amy Santiago and she's not about to be late for the first time in her career. Jake watches her from the bed as she gets dressed, joins her in the kitchen for a quick breakfast and commandeers the radio when they're getting into the car.

"Want to make up a daring story behind your forehead bruise? Twenty bucks says I can convince the squad you got it playing jenga with all your binders."

She rolls her eyes and pulls away from the curb before Jake as even finished his first _uh huh, this my shit_.


End file.
